Milo, eyes shut, luxuriated in the feeling of Lenore's warm mouth around him, a hand caressing his scrotum, a hand on his ass, a hand stroking his chest, a hand caressing his back.... uh, oh.

All those hands at once. He realized that Lenore wasn't the only action in the van. He opened his eyes to see patches of Callie's soft blue skin entwined between and around him and Lenore. He nearly yelped in shock, but all of his voluntary motor functions seemed to have been disconnected by the absinthe, and Lenore's fellatic form. And by Callie. Who was smiling.

Lenore seemed to be in the throes of a jagged incredible high, even possessed. And, as a strangely detached part of Milo considered this thought, it judged possession to be entirely possible under the circumstances.

Callie apparently had at least as many hands applied to Lenore as she had to Milo. One tenderly brushed away a stray wisp of hair, another stroked teasing fingernails up and down Lenore's back, another brushed her breasts, still another moved in the concealment of her legs, its precise modus operandi partly hidden.

Lenore and Milo moaned at the same time, and Callie grinned, beatifically, not letting up. She winked lazily at Milo, the forefinger of yet another of her hands rising to her lips for a moment in the universal 'hush' gesture, as if he were a child. Not that he seemed to have any choice.

Lenore had no idea what had hit her, but had enough brain cells still engaged to realize that it had to be more than just the Acupulco Gold and the absinthe. She'd never felt this high, this hot, this amazing, this alive ever.

As her mind melted into a small warm puddle as dense as a supernova, she decided it must be love. Absolutely. "Oh, fuck, yeah!"

Milo and Lenore were so preoccupied that the earthquake escaped their notice. The temblor was centered almost exactly beneath them, and a healthy 7.5 on the Richter scale, according to remote recording seismographs at the Mazatenango seismic station, southwest of Guatemala City. Unseen by anyone at the astronomical observatory far north at Mount Palomar was a palpable flicker in the eighteenth brightest star in the Omicron Velorum cluster, far deeper and longer than any atmospherics could account for.

At that moment, Lenore felt her rolling hips spasm unstoppably, felt Milo course down her throat, felt the van rock wildly on its springs as a noise like a loaded southbound freight train rolled through the ground beneath them. She yowled a lioness-in-heat scream. Milo shuddered, groaned something unintelligible, and, all self-control abandoned, farted full in her face.

She, writhing, appeared not to notice. If she did, it only added to the force of her shattering release.

"Did the earth move for you, too?" Callie's pouting, smiling lips whispered to him, just before they faded. In the sudden burst of clarity and stillness that followed, Milo decided that her Cheshire Cat act was really beginning to piss him off.

Somewhere in the darkened back of the van, a child began to cry soggily.